


Soul + Fire

by gloss



Category: Invaders (Marvel)
Genre: Bisexual Characters, M/M, invaders forever, mention of past and current het relationships, sidekicking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky drops by.</p>
<p>Set after Toro's return while Steve's in outer space. Whoo-woo comics time continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul + Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sebadoh: "Not there to soothe your soul, friend to tender friend"
> 
> Thanks to G. for inspiration and help.

Bucky drops by when he can. Toro's living on the Upper West Side in a sixth floor walk-up, one of those long, echoing apartments with rooms strung in sequence like foot soldiers. Steve got him the place, or so he was told by a couple underlings.

Steve was on Mars, Bucky says, with a twist to his lips. Toro wasn't sure if he was joking. 

But Bucky's sticking closer to Earth, it seems. Any old time of the day or night, he lets himself in. If Toro's not there, he heats up soup or day-old coffee and settles onto the couch, feet up, sipping slowly, eyes open but unfocused.

Hell, that's what he does when Toro's home, too. 

Sometimes they order in food - nightmarket noodles, Ethiopian flatbread and stew, burgers the size of a baby's head. Food never used to be this big; even so, they can't get enough. They eat together on the couch. Slumped down, knees and elbows knocking, companionable lip-smacking silence.

Sometimes they put a game on TV, or, more frequently, the radio. 

"Better to imagine it," Bucky said once and Toro agrees.

It's so easy to see *everything* these days: pimples under the news announcer's makeup, stranger's vacation snapshots on Facebook, so many details he never dreamed of, never needed.

They play cards, hunched over facing each other, just like always. Only now there's the beat and shriek of a city around them rather than the groaning hum and bone-liquefying shake of a C-47.

Bucky wins. Bucky *always* wins, but rarely smiles. Just gathers up the pennies they use as chips and starts shuffling the cards for another hand.

Food, a game, several hands of poker.

Not so often, but not rarely, either, Bucky will roll his head against the back of the couch, look Toro up and down, and deliberately knock his knee against Toro's.

And Toro will nod, slide a little closer, work his fingers up Bucky's arm (robot or human, Bucky shivers all the same). The world gets a little quieter then.

But between them, every little things goes loud as thunder. Rasp of stubble on skin, tugs on shirts, pushing hands through hair or hauling legs over laps, it's louder than gunfire, darker, just the two of them again, so close neither can focus.

Toro's alive again like nothing happened, but Bucky's body lived through all those years. He's got creaks in his hips, pains in his shoulders, skin burnished soft, worn down. Toro's smooth, unhurt, unmarked body fascinates him, compels his attention, his touch.

They never used to kiss like this, like there's no hurry. There was always a rush, back then, not to get caught, to make it count, not to miss reveille, to grow up. Now, they lean into each other, shift and flex, and the kiss multiplies, unfurls, meanders, tugging them along.

Toro's never kissed anyone like this. Kissing Ann was like falling in love each time, her curves filling his palms, her husky laugh when she teased him. Kissing Bucky back then was like gulping down food you'd stolen, food you desperately needed.

But this is something else. 

"This okay with Widow?" Toro asked. To his shame, it was after they'd already fucked a couple times, but at least he asked.

Bucky nodded and pulled on his undershirt.

"She's not gonna...eat you?" When Bucky squinted up at him, Toro shrugged. " _Black Widow?_ Strikes fear in a man, that's all."

"She's scary," Bucky agreed. He looked down at that, his expression gone fond and private.

"I take code names seriously. Always have, you know that."

Bucky tilted his head slightly. "I never had one."

"Yeah, but you didn't need one. You just tagged along," Toro said and jumped out of the way of Bucky's well-aimed kick.

Other than that, they haven't spoken much about this, or anything else. They tip together, kiss until the kiss ends. Sometimes Toro slides down to the floor on his knees; sometimes Bucky drapes him over the arm of the couch and tastes him head to toe, cheek to instep.

It's always dark. Afterwards, Toro snaps a couple little hovering flames to help them find their clothes. He's spent and warm, hair in his eyes, shudders in his thighs. Bucky's smile in the firelight is broad, then narrow, then broad again, beautiful in the shadows and glow, impossible to catch.

He goes still when Toro wraps his arms around him and rests his cheek against the border between flesh and cybernetic arm. 

"What?"

Toro doesn't reply. He closes his eyes and inhales. The air smells like sulfur from the flames, and underneath that, guysweat and spunk, sharp and sour things.

After they'd make love, Ann always got hungry. Toro picked the habit up from her, so he says, as he releases Buck and steps back, "Time for a bite?"

Bucky slaps his stomach. "I could eat."

Bottomless pits, the both of them.


End file.
